


Don't let the Bullies get you Down

by KnightOn



Category: AC3 - Fandom, Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed 3 - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Gen, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOn/pseuds/KnightOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. A young Connor is living with his father, but finds adjusting to the change more difficult than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't let the Bullies get you Down

Connor weakly pushed open his front door, dragging himself inside the large home. He still hadn't gotten used to it, the large scale of it all, all the doors and windows and staircases. He had no idea how his father afforded it all. But every day after school he'd come home and wouldn't feel at home. Sure, it was better then his old home, a small single-story structure, but his old home was all he ever knew. Even with his father by his side in his time of depression, Connor still felt completely alone. He missed his mother, his old friends, and even with Haytham's constant affection, Connor didn't feel like the man even wanted him in the first place.

Connor dropped his schoolbag at the foot of the barstool and hauled himself up on the seat. He splayed his arms out on the marble counter and buried his head. He suddenly heard the door to the backyard, just meters away from him, slam open. Connor didn't look up. There was no reason for alarm, he knew it was his father. He wasn't one for outdoor work but Connor knew he had been out there all day.

"Ah, Connor!" Connor lifted his head, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His father's sleeves were pulled and folded up to his elbows, bearing pale arms smudged with dirt and scattered in small nics. In one hand he held a dirty rag. He was sweating, he looked exhausted, but his face suggested otherwise. His smile was broad and almost uncharacteristic. He was pleased with whatever work he had done. "How was school?"

Connor's eyes darted down to the counter. He was interested in whatever his father had cooked up, but he couldn't have picked a worse day to surprise him. 

"Okay, I guess." Connor dragged.

"Oh?" Haytham's smile dropped a little. His posture became more relaxed. "Did something happen today?"

"Not really, no."

"Are you sure? Is there anything you want to-"

"Uh, listen, dad-" Connor began, pulling himself away from the counter and easing his way off the barstool, "I don't really want to talk today. Not right now. Maybe later. I think I'm just gonna go upstairs."

Connor reached down and slung his backpack over his shoulder. As quickly as possible he turned and made his way to the staircase by the front door. He didn't make it very far.

"Connor."

Connor stopped dead in his tracks, gripping the wall at his side lightly with one hand. His father's tone was not demanding, as if he might be angry at him. It was stern, but calm. Fatherly. Neither Kenway moved from their places.

"Connor, I'm your father, remember? If there's someone or something bothering you, you can tell me. In fact, you need to tell me, so I can help you. So what's wrong, son?"

Connor took a deep sigh, shrugging his shoulders. He eased the strap of his pack off his shoulder and let it klunk to the floor. He turned around to face Haytham.

"Alright, fine. Look, it's just some kids at school. They keep making fun of me." Without changing his expression Haytham leaned forward on the counter, tucking the rag into his back pocket. 

"What about?"

Connor wringed his hands. "They said...they said I was weird. Because I only have a dad who doesn't even look like me. Because I look different. Because...I guess because I'm half Native American..." Connor's gaze dropped again. Haytham's frown deepened. He knew all too well how proud his son was of his heritage. 

"Connor..."

"It's fine. Really. They just say things." A second of silence.

"But that's not all there really is, is there?" A deep tone, somehow both stale and caring. Slowly Connor warmed up to his advances. His father was a master interrogater, unfortunately.

"No..." He said, shaking his head. "Sometimes, at recess...some of the kids chase me around with sticks or throw things at me."

"Does anyone ever notice? Any teachers or staff?" Connor shook his head. 

"Not really, no. But sometimes, if they do, I get blamed for stuff. Today they found out I can climb really well so they chased me up a tree. I was up there for a while. You might be getting a call about me skipping classes later on."

"Anything else?"

"They call me names, sometimes."

"What do they say?"

"Some dumb things. 'Half-breed', or something."

A look of true sadness spread across Haytham's face. He backed away from the counter and went over to his son. He kneeled and embraced him, almost taking him by suprise. After a few moments, Connor returned the hug.

"I'm sorry you have to put up with this. I wish you had told me earlier though. I could have helped." Haytham pulled away, holding his son gently by the shoulders. "But I can help now. I'll talk to your teacher, or your principal. Someone. Okay?"

"Okay..."

Haytham offered the boy a smile. "And if any of those bullies try to get to you again, just use that inner wolf to scare 'em off, right?" He said joyously, ruffling Connor's hair. He let out a giggle in response, pushing his father's hand away.

"Dad!"

Haytham stood, and as he did so he remembered what he had been working on all day. "Say, I know what will make you happy. Close your eyes and take my hand."

Connor gave his old man a smile, rolling his eyes. He closed his eyes, quickly reaching for his father's hand. Haytham led the young boy across the polished kitchen floor, through the back door and out onto the grassy yard. Connor's favorite thing was the outdoors. His sight obscured, his feet bare, he was given an odd sensation when his feet touched the unkept grass. A sense of nostalgia. A reminder of the woods he used to be able to explore. In his new home it was mostly suburb, not many trees to climb or bushes to hide in. He missed it. But he liked trying new things. He missed his mother. He missed his friends. But, secretly, he had missed having a father.

"Don't look yet." Haytham said. He released his grip on his son's hand, leaving him alone in his own darkness. Connor focused, and made out the sound of Haytham moving behind him and kneeling. He tilted Connor's head up a bit.

"Okay. Open you eyes."

Connor opened his eyes. High up in front of him, planted neatly inbetween two strong trees, was a neatly built, small, sqaure-shaped treehouse. Connor gaped, a huge smile spreading over his features. For a moment, he didn't feel torn up and bullied. He didn't feel alone and without a home. Now this; this felt like home.


End file.
